Part One
The light is fading out,
The shadows have a new lease of life.
I cough once, twice.
I sound like a motorcycle engine starting up.
I breathe in deep,
Fuck.
Fuck this.
The day never started.
I’ve slept.
Not much else.
My lungs feel like concrete.
Every breath is a battle.
Wearing me down.
Wearing me out.
Got the lights down low.
I took the bins out earlier,
Took me an hour to recover.
Heart trying to escape my chest.
Beating like an unreliable drummer.
But I’m here
And I’m grateful
And I’m lucky.
I’m not good at waiting.
Waiting to feel better.
I’d rather be down in the trenches.
A work in progress.
Put some music on.
Close my eyes.
Part Two
How blue can you be?
Pretty fucking blue.
Like the planet.
Or the guitar by the bed.
I read it’s 620–670 Terahertz,
But it feels more like “Blue Car” by Greg Brown.
The radio just doesn’t do that.
Put the song on.
Let it play.
Down from the mountain.
The smell from her vape still lingers.
Yellow hair.
The way her body felt next to mine.
Those late nights.
Early mornings.
Up all night, watching the sunrise over our little town.
I drive down its old streets, alone at 5:00 AM.
Green.
Yellow.
Red.
Blue.
Waiting.
Watching the birds soaring through the morning sky.
Staying warm.
Or are they out of here?
Am I the only person alive in this whole town?
Waiting for the blue light to change.
Park up.
Walk through the cracked pavements and empty streets,
Alone at the coffee shop.
Everyone fussing about nothing.
Black coffee.
Pure.
Simple.
Sunset, all orange and yellow.
If I could paint, I would paint it.
If I could sing, well I’d be a different person.
I don’t have much.
These words
And the world turns.
And life goes on.
So I sit beneath the darkening sky,
With an old guitar, just missing her for a while.
Part Three
Till I walk along the river
Winding through this town,
Through our lives,
To the bus station,
Lit up in the street lights.
Someone sleeping on the bench
Look at the destinations
Maybe I’ll just
Go
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
She had the choice.
She stayed.
For love.
For me.
I’m moving.
Past all the rows of houses. .
Back to where I belong.
To myself.
To her.
Part Four
Sleeping in our bed.
Her fan on.
Even in the winter -2 outside.
The moonlight above the trees sneaking in the window.
Her skin.
Her touch.
Our bodies together.
Her kiss.
The world fades.
Her.
Me.
Home.
Part Five
We’re in the garden on those two camp seats we bought for the beach.
Speaker playing her favourite band,
I hope they tour again.
Fuck, the world got old.
We’re older too.
But young enough.
And happy.
Her favourite song,
the one she heard at the Chinese restaurant playing country music.
It’s a beauty.
Beneath a blue Ayrshire sky.
Still here.
Still in love.
I hear the snare.
The guitar.
The music.
The big blue beautiful sky.
Let’s dance, while we can.
In this moment.
Part 6
She sat at the table.
Doing a jigsaw.
Cup of coffee.
Worried about the state of the world.
She said:
“Read me something.
Something you wrote.”
I read her:
“Ayrshire Light”
“Context”
A chapter from “Burn”
She laughed.
She smiled.
Worried what her mum would think.
She said:
You know.
The writing.Is you.
Anyone else.
I probably would have told them to fuck off.
But I told her.
I know.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 